


A Quiet World (If Only For Now)

by ProPinkist



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Angst, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Netflix i hate you so much!!!, and the show is going to cheat us out of them!!! why ;___;, and thinking about these two MAKE ME CRY, oh that's right because Jacques being a suave spy man with a female love interest he just met, this is book verse and taking book characterizations and timeline into account, this is so bullshitted together i'm so sorry, was more important than having him be emotionally fragile and broken, we need more gen in this archive how many times do i have to say it dammit, with a kid he finds and looks after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 22:22:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15567624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProPinkist/pseuds/ProPinkist
Summary: Quigley Quagmire and Jacques Snicket's relationship, from awkward housemates just missing each other to two children supporting each other, not knowing how it will all end but hoping for the best [that doesn't come].





	A Quiet World (If Only For Now)

**Author's Note:**

> I spent so, so long writing and revising this, it's ridiculous. Mainly I'm just so paranoid about how I wrote these two characters. With Quigley, everyone in the fandom seems to be against him for some reason with these conspiracy theories that he purposefully lied to the Baudelaires about a bunch of stuff, which I've never understood, and I decided to write him like, well, a lost kid, instead of the very together and levelheaded person he is in TSS, or a liar if you believe those theories, so hopefully that doesn't bother anyone or feel too ooc! :'D As for Jacques, he has barely any canon to work off of, but in general he just comes across as terribly in over his head and scared shitless (like most people in VFD probably, rip), so that was easy to pair with Quigley...... I just hope it doesn't feel like I overdid it. I'm tired of scrutinizing it though, so here it is lol. 
> 
> Book!verse (duh), and I took information from the Unauthorized Autobiography about Jacques and Lemony's past jobs, and the timeline of Jacques' investigation. They couldn't have spent more than a few days together, realistically, but for the sake of the story I imagined it stretched out longer.

“Welcome back,” Quigley said as soon as the person he was greeting had entered the house, closing the front door behind him and letting a relieved smile show on his face. Jacques only returned a vague half-smile of his own, patting his head absentmindedly before striding ahead into the large domed library room without a word.

He had been about to ask after his success, but the man’s expression told him all he needed to know, as it had most of the previous times.

Quigley sighed, moving into the kitchen. There was food and other supplies around the counter and table, a mix of the herpetologist’s and what Jacques had gotten for both of them once what had originally been left here was no longer enough. It felt wrong to stay here and eat the food that had been here, but though he felt guilty about it, Quigley was glad that the place felt more lived-in now, and less unsettling. It still was more lonely and empty than he would have liked, but he was grateful for every little thing that helped, and so even a sound as quiet as tea being poured into a cup was enough to make Quigley feel more comforted. Anything to break the silence and remind him that he was still alive here, in the real world.

Inside the library, Jacques was standing at the far corner near one of the bookshelves, paging through a new book, his bag near his feet, which was a sight Quigley had long become familiar with. He approached the other, stopping behind him.

“Here.”

Jacques visibly jumped, letting out a small yelp of surprise and whirling around quickly, having been so engrossed in whatever he had been reading. Quigley smiled weakly at him, holding out the teacup, and Jacques’ face relaxed upon registering who he was, smiling more genuinely now as he took the offering. “Thank you.”

“…Of course,” Quigley replied softly, watching Jacques move to sit down on the nearby sofa and drink slowly while he continued to read just as intently as before. He moved across the room to the chair he had been sitting in, picking up his own book from the floor and trying to find his place, which had been lost when he had dropped the book without a second thought and hurried to the door upon hearing the specific knock that Jacques had worked out with him to identify himself.

Right now, that knock was the most beautiful sound of all to Quigley, no matter how many times he heard it.

 

* * *

 

“…Are you enjoying what there is to read in the library?”

Quigley looked up from his dinner in surprise at Jacques’ question. They usually only managed to eat one meal together, as Jacques’ sleep schedule was erratic and often had him staying up at night and sleeping late into the day while Quigley was awake, and of course he was sometimes out of the house, but even though this was one of the few occurrences they could spend with each other, they rarely entertained idle chatter. They had talked more the first few days, about their situations and about things that interested them, vaguely, and Jacques had told him the few things he would about who he was and what he was trying to accomplish, but it had died down since then. Jacques often mumbled to himself about his research and plans, and didn’t speak to him much beyond formalities, almost awkwardly, asking if he was alright and if he needed anything new, which Quigley tried to respect: he knew how busy the other was, and knew how much his work occupied his troubled thoughts. Because of this, it was a surprise to hear him initiating a conversation with him for the first time in a while, even if the question wasn’t very original or one Jacques couldn’t already know the answer to, and Quigley felt himself smile as he nodded.

“Mmhmm. There aren’t many books that aren’t about reptiles, but they’re still all so fascinating. Like apparently there’s a frog that can make sounds like human speech, and a pair of snakes that can drive, and another snake that can _type_ , and so many others. Plus some of the books have maps of countries and terrains where they can be found, and of course there are the other, unrelated books that I’ve enjoyed.” He was reading one now called _Remarkable Phenomena of Mortmain Mountains,_ with myths and legends of said mountains and descriptions of the biology and ecosystem there, which might become his favorite yet, he’d decided; he planned to read it more that night, the book tucked up in the bedroom that he had chosen to sleep in once Jacques’ arrival and residence there had made him more comfortable being away from the front door at night. The room had a window that looked out over the beautiful garden below, and there were curious blank pieces of paper stuck around the wall underneath it. Just another reminder that there had been a life, lives, here before he had come.

“That’s good,” Jacques said softly, giving him a small smile. It soon vanished though, as he seemed to hesitate for a moment before continuing, his eyes sad. “I would have loved to see the place when all of the reptiles were still here; I’m sure it was truly marvelous. …Sadly, I never had the opportunity to visit Dr. Montgomery’s beautiful house back then… and it feels wrong to do so as I am now. I didn’t meet him often at all, really, but his wisdom and passion left such an impact on me, I daresay; he was ever so kind and vibrant… so warm to be around…”

He trailed off as he put his fork down, gazing ahead vaguely at nothing, his eyes unfocused and distant, and Quigley bit his lip as another awkward silence fell over them. There were questions he wanted to ask, but he knew that Jacques was unlikely to answer them, at least not fully, so instead he tried to ask for confirmation on what he had more or less already unpleasantly put together.

“…If the Baudelaires were here with Dr. Montgomery before he… died, does that mean that his death was…”

“Yes. …Count Olaf took his… his life, in his attempt to get the Baudelaires after they were taken out of his custody.”

Jacques answered sooner than he expected, his voice trembling only slightly as he rubbed his eyes with his palms, and Quigley felt a lump in his throat, a coldness settling in his chest that quietly plagued him always now, but that he tried his hardest to stifle as best he could. He had always known that the herpetologist was gone, of course, but hearing it stated out loud that he had been killed, his life cut short prematurely instead of ending naturally, and because of the heartlessness of another person, no less, only made the house feel chillier and lonelier and sadder than it already had. Death, loss, _murder_ , were things Quigley didn’t like to think about, not before but especially not now, and as much as he wanted to know about Jacques’ connection with Dr. Montgomery (and so many other connections, to say the least), he felt guilty for forcing him into talking about what had happened to his friend, even though Jacques himself had started talking about him in the first place.

“…I’m sorry. I wish I could have met him.” He didn’t know much about the Baudelaires besides what sounded like very useful hobbies they all had, but he was sure that they must have been devastated by the loss of their new guardian, as well.

“It never becomes any less painful, not at all, but alas, it is something we’ve sadly grown used to in the life we lead,” Jacques said weakly, letting out a watery sigh. “You would have loved him though, as would your siblings, I’m certain. …He was so good with children, even though he never had any of his own. Perhaps he considered all of the reptiles his children.” Jacques chuckled as Quigley slowly and hesitantly reached out and took one of his hands, and he accepted the gesture, squeezing gently back, as Quigley’s mind raced and desperately screamed for him to ask _what kind of life do you lead where you are so used to your friends being **murdered?**_ “But now the Baudelaires have been sent somewhere else, and all I know is that they were last seen near a body of water, and I fear greatly that wherever they go, Count Olaf will follow them, and cause the same misery to them yet again.…… Oh, if he knew what poor Beatrice’s children were going through, it would break his heart even more.”

Jacques trailed off once again, clearly beginning to lose himself in his thoughts as his voice lowered some, and speaking of the Baudelaires must have reminded him of his mission, because he then stood up, taking his plate and utensils to the sink and cleaning up before Quigley could even begin to consider asking who _“he”_ was once he had realized it obviously wasn’t Count Olaf. Still, he filed away what must have been the name of the Baudelaires’ mother in his memory, wondering if all of his questions that were multiplying more and more as Jacques let slip more and more mysterious statements would ever truly be answered.

There was so much he wanted to know, that he felt that he _deserved_ to know, and perhaps if he tried to ask again, depending on how he framed his questions, Jacques might relent. After all, he had learned a little bit more just now than he knew before, hadn’t he?

Jacques made to leave the kitchen, clearly worried about getting back to his research, and Quigley opened his mouth, preparing to speak.

“……Thanks for eating and talking with me. …Don’t… don’t overwork yourself.”

Jacques turned back halfway to look at him, his eyes widening imperceptibly at his words. Eventually, he managed to barely smile, and his expression inexplicably made Quigley want to cry.

“…It’s the least I can do, Quigley. And thank you… I’ll try.”

_…That’s all I needed to know._

 

* * *

 

“It’s not much, but I brought you something.”

Quigley turned to look at Jacques from where he sat on the sofa, having zoned out for a while as he took a break from reading. The man was pulling something out of his bag, and eventually he saw that it was a small book with a dark purple cover, which piqued his interest.

“It’s just a notebook,” Jacques said as he handed it to Quigley, and sure enough, upon opening the fancy little book, it was empty except for elegant lined pages. “But I thought you could take note of interesting things you read that you want to remember; I and many others of us in… VFD… make a habit of doing this, they’re called comm—”

“Commonplace books,” Quigley finished for him, grinning, while not missing how Jacques was hesitant to speak of that oh-so-frustrating acronym. “I know; my brother and sister had two of their own, because Duncan wants to be a journalist when he grows up, and Isadora likes poetry and famous poets. I never really thought about starting one of my own, but…” He looked down, sobering, running his hand slowly over the leather cover. “……I hope they were able to take them with them when they escaped the fire.”

“……My sister had an interest in poetry, too. I wonder if she still does.”

Quigley was so deep in thought over how much he missed his siblings that he almost didn’t hear Jacques, but once he registered the words, he raised his head again, eyes widening at the realization that Jacques was telling him something about his family for the very first time.

“You have a sister? …Where is she?”

“I don’t know,” Jacques said, sighing. “We haven’t seen each other in years… I’m only assuming she’s even still alive, though I have no real reason to believe she’s not. I can only pray she’s safe, especially since the last time I managed to communicate with her, I think she was telling me that she’s……”

Jacques’ eyes shimmered with emotion as he looked down, smiling bittersweetly, and wistfully. Quigley wished he knew what he had been about to say, but he wasn’t about to push such a personal matter, and could only wonder if one of his guesses was correct. Instead, he stayed silent, politely waiting for Jacques to regain his composure.

“…And, ironically, my brother was a journalist,” Jacques finally said, leaning down and pulling a pen out of his bag, which he dropped into Quigley’s lap atop the book after moving to his side and sitting down next to him on the sofa. “And now I’m one.”

“You are?” Quigley asked in surprise as he turned to him, the latter revelation overtaking anything he was preparing to ask about the former. “…Is _that_ what your work is—"

“No,” Jacques said quickly. “I only do this on the side to make a living, since my… main work doesn’t pay. It’s what I’m doing some of the times I leave here.”

“Oh.” Somehow, he wasn’t sure how he should feel about that. “…Do you enjoy it?”

Jacques grimaced, as if recalling bad memories.

“…Sort of. Unfortunately I have trouble reporting on… what I’d really like to. Both of us did.”

Quigley had no idea what that meant, once again, but he already had the other, biggest question on his lips that he couldn’t stop himself from asking.

“You said your brother _was_ one… Is he—”

“No.”

Jacques replied fast once more, almost as if he was trying to convince himself of it. Quigley immediately felt terrible.

A moment later, though, he heard a small sound from next to him, and he turned to see Jacques looking down at the space between them, smiling wryly.

“……He was fired.”

“…I see.” He didn’t see, not really, but there was nothing more he could say.

There was a long, awkward, and sad silence. Quigley found himself blinking the familiar, heavy sensation out of his eyes, as he wondered how long the world had been so cold, and lonely, and cruel, where all of the things that Jacques spoke of so casually were simply taken for granted now, things that perhaps even his own parents were aware of, were dealing with, all of the time they had been alive.

Wondered if and for how long their home had been destined to burn down, while he and his siblings lived in blissful ignorance of such a terrible, inevitable fate.

“……You didn’t… have to buy me anything.”

It was a dumb, pitiful attempt to finally break the silence, but it was nonetheless what unwillingly came out of his mouth.

“Of course I did. I wanted to. After all…” He heard Jacques let out yet another sigh, heard him rub his face with his hand, his voice tired and a whisper. “…there isn’t anything else I can do for you while I’m so busy, and this is the only safe place for you with me.”

Quigley clenched his teeth.

_You could tell me everything that’s going on. You could take me with you on all of these trips you take for your investigation, so I’m not left here not knowing where you are and not knowing if you’ll make it back. You could take me to my siblings already, who don’t know that I survived and think they’ve lost everything. You could tell me why my family is so important, and why the Baudelaires are so important, and how you know my family and know their family, and tell me why you’re trying to find them, and who these enemies of ours are, and why they’re our enemies, and tell me why there’s a secret passageway from my house to the house of a herpetologist me and my siblings never knew but apparently my parents, the Baudelaire parents most likely, and you did. Tell me what your job is, and how this all started, and why you’re so far away from your siblings, what this VFD conspiracy is that apparently connects us all that I deserve to know about if I’m a part of it, if it caused the death of our_ parents.

_You could do all that if only for the sole reason being so I could protect you._

“…...I hope you can reunite with your brother and sister again soon.”

_Why, Quigley; every time…!_

“…One day, Quigley. One day, I truly believe… t-that all of us will be together and safe again, and the world will be quiet once more.”

He felt Jacques’ arm gently rest around the top of his shoulders.

“……and then maybe my brother and I can give yours some writing tips.”

And still, Quigley couldn’t help but smile.

_‘The world will be quiet once more’_

He liked the sound of that.

 

* * *

 

One morning, Quigley came downstairs to the faint sound of coughing.

“…You’re sick.”

He stared blankly upon entering the library room at Jacques, who was holding his hand in front of his mouth. This was one of the few times he had already been up by the time Quigley had awoken, and he wondered just how much sleep the man had gotten the previous night, looking at his face and eyes, which were bloodshot and shadowed even more severely than ever before.

“Oh, Quigley,” Jacques said wearily after turning to him, having not noticed him at all until he had spoken. His voice was hoarse and breathy, painfully so. “It appears I must have caught something out there… the absolute worst timing for this.” He massaged the space between his eyes with his fingers, wincing, and coughed again into his other hand. “……B-But it’s nothing I can’t handle… I’ve had to deal with this and then some while going from place to place; feels like I’m always getting sick. It’s just a minor cold, and there’s much worse things to be than sick… I can handle it, if I’m careful.”

He pulled out his own notebook from his pocket as his words trailed off into his typical private mumbling, and as Quigley watched him squint heavily at it, and then half-lean on the sofa to scribble something down, his hand noticeably shaking, he suddenly felt as if something inside of him had snapped.

“…… _Careful………?”_

Jacques didn’t hear him, didn’t see how he started to tremble, his fists clenched at his sides in dumbfounded, angry disbelief.

Without another word, Quigley finally walked forward and plucked Jacques’ notebook and pen right out of his hands.

“Wha…?”

“You need to go back to bed, now. Have you had anything to eat yet?”

His voice was stern and flat, but near the end it threatened to crack, as he watched Jacques stare at him with wide, bleary eyes, as it took him a bit of time to fully process what had just happened. When he finally did, though, his expression crumpled into an apologetic, weak smile as he shook his head.

“What I managed to eat, yes. But I can’t afford to waste any time; things are so urgent, just earlier I got a correspondence telling me that—”

“You have been doing this for _days and days,”_ Quigley interrupted, his voice a strange, pitiful mix of trying to sound authoritative and yet faltering at the same time, as he shoved Jacques’ commonplace book and pen in his pocket just in case the man attempted to try to get them back (and he didn’t know what he would do with them _later_ if he succeeded in getting him to sleep, but he couldn’t think about that right now). “It’s been almost two weeks of this nonstop, Jacques! Day in and day out, you just read and take notes, and leave and go who knows where and come back, and it never ends, and you’re still nowhere close to your goal, are you?!”

“Only a little, it’s true, but I c-can’t stop, Quigley _please_ , I know it’s hard for you to understand because of how much I can’t tell you” – Jacques spoke gently and pleading, the way an adult tried to explain an adult matter to a child in a way they could comprehend, and it was what made him the angriest of all – “and I’m _sorry_ for that, b-but there’s so much at stake and so many of my associates are counting on me, I have to find the Baudelaires before it’s too late, I have to secure the sugar bowl, and I dearly hope to find L—”

“I don’t _care_ how much is at stake; you can’t go on like this! Your associates – your friends and _family_ – wouldn’t want you to kill yourself over this!”

Jacques seemed to flinch, letting out a small gasp, or perhaps a sob, and Quigley stopped short. He breathed shakily, frustrated, angry, upset, and _grieving a_ s his eyes begged to let out tears, as he watched the man look down and cover his face with his hand, and Quigley despaired at the thought of how _ridiculous_ this all was, how horrible, how _unbelievable_ and _unfair_ , how much he still didn’t know and how much he _should_ have known, how none of this should have been happening… and how much more he didn’t want to happen.

He hadn’t meant to sound so insensitive, to say what he had so lightly, and Quigley’s heart ached at the nerve he had unintentionally struck before he could realize what he was saying. But it was still true for Jacques, and something he desperately needed to know, as much as it was true for everyone else.

Quigley knew nothing about what Jacques’ friends and family were like, but he did know what his brother and sister would wish for him, as a brother himself.

“……If things are that desperate,” he finally continued, gently, sympathetically, trying to sound at least somewhat apologetic, “then at least let me help you for now. You won’t get anything done like this.”

“I _can’t_ —” Jacques stopped to cough. “…can’t get you involved, Quigley, it’s too dangerous.”

He had known he would reply with that.

“I’ve been involved in this VFD thing from the very moment my home and parents were burned down, Jacques.”

“……ah…”

He felt the tears on his face, though he remained silent. Speaking of, _admitting_ what had happened to him out loud made Quigley feel too weak, too heavy to stand, wanting to collapse in the weight of his despair, but instead his focus remained transfixed on Jacques, as if mentally begging for him to help ground him, worried about him as he was.

It was like he was the parent and Jacques was the child, in this moment, and he didn’t think he could handle the role for much longer. Not after so long, after everything that had happened, that _was_ happening.

“………You’re right, of course,” Jacques finally whispered hoarsely, chuckling wryly. He looked so tired, as if he might fall over at any moment, and Quigley felt exactly the same, but he wanted to grab him, shake him, _hug_ him, do _anything_ possible to imbue any amount of life back into this man who always looked so haunted, looked as if he had seen and experienced more pain and suffering in his short life than anyone should ever have to, as he knew he indeed had _._ “You’re right… we’re all involved in this, whether we want to be or not, from so early on… and eventually we just…… get used to it… tell ourselves that this is how the world is… how we’re meant… m-meant to be…… until………”

Trailing off once more, he looked out across the room through Quigley, at nothing. Quigley stared back at him, and wondered if this was how soldiers looked after coming home from war.

He wondered if he was destined to look like that too, one day.

“…I meant it… when I said I don’t care about what’s at stake,” Quigley whispered brokenly, shaking as he silently cried. “…at least not right now. Maybe I will, one day; maybe I _should_. But… But right now… all I know, all I _have_ and _need_ … are my siblings… and **_you_**.”

Jacques jerked his head back to him, wide-eyed, the red in them so prominent, and Quigley inhaled sharply, putting a hand in front of his face to stifle a sob, trying not to break down completely.

“So p-please… _please,_ Jacques, I-I…”

The answers he wanted seemed so unimportant now. He still desired them, but he had meant what he said, and he had known it all along, deep down.

He just had never known how to let Jacques know.

A few moments later, Quigley felt a heavy, hot pressure leaning against his side and shoulder, and the sound and feeling of tired and labored breathing reached his ears.

“………I’m sorry.”

Quigley let out another tiny, choked sob, reaching up and holding Jacques’ hand to help support him, gripping it tightly as his heart ached.

“……It’s not your fault.”

He couldn’t say anything different, despite everything. How _could_ he?

“It’s not your fault…… I’m sorry too.”

Jacques leaned his head against his own, and Quigley heard him softly crying.

After helping him get upstairs to his bedroom and giving him medicine that he found in the house, Quigley came back downstairs and began to prepare himself breakfast, his hands shaking as he did so, praying fervently and desperately to any god or fates that existed to keep Jacques safe, and bring him happiness.

 

* * *

 

_There was fire everywhere._

_It was encroaching on the doorways leading to the hallway and the dining room, and everything was melting around him in such a loud, terrible cacophony of crackling, the heat so strong it threatened to close in and crush him._

_He was with his mother here in the library. His father was somewhere on the other side of the house, with Isadora and Duncan. There was a glass window covering one wall that they could break to try to escape and go around to reach them, instead of going through the soon to be completely blocked doorways, but his mother wasn’t leading him there; instead, she was kicking away the rug covering the floor that was already starting to be burned._

_There was a trapdoor there. She opened it and pushed him down into the blackness of the tunnel below that he had never known about, telling him that she was going to find the rest of their family, and that they would join him at the other end of the tunnel._

_He didn’t have time to scream for her to stop before she was gone. But for some reason, he already knew it wouldn’t do any good even if he kept screaming._

_…Except, he wasn’t alone this time._

_Suddenly there was a blur moving past him, and a man that had been near him in the tunnel was pushing back open the trapdoor after his mother had closed it, letting the intense heat and terrible racket of falling and burning objects overwhelm him once more. He whispered some reassurance to him about “rescuing them” before stepping back up into the blazing hell._

_It was Jacques._

_He tried to grab the back of his jacket, reached out desperately. The fabric slipped through his fingers. He screamed his name. Jacques was crying out too, with names, but they weren’t the names of his family members. But all he knew was that he had to stop him, no matter what._

_He knew that he couldn’t save the others, but he knew that he could save Jacques._

_So he kept screaming. Tried to look inside the room through the cracked trapdoor, unable to climb back up because of the height. He could just barely see and hear Jacques through such a hazy blur._

_The heat was unbearable, and the smoke made him cough. His eyes watered, and his throat grew hoarse._

_He continued to scream, as Jacques screamed strangers’ names._

_He knew his parents were going to die, but he had to rescue Jacques. Anything to save Jacques._

_That was his purpose now, wasn’t it? Before he could reach his siblings, and even after that, didn’t he need to keep Jacques safe? Wasn’t that what he_ should _do?_

_Of course it was. He needed him. So many people needed Jacques. And without Jacques, he…_

_……But…_

_…he was going to die._

_There was nothing he could do to save him from the flames, from his fate._

_But Quigley didn’t give up screaming his name_

“…Quigley.”

_He could never give up on him, even if the other gave up on himself. He couldn’t let anyone take him away from him, not fire, not villains, not anything else. Not when he mattered to so many. Not when he would matter to so many more in the future._

_Even if he was going to fail, he would never stop trying to save his life._

“Quigley!”

_He would have drowned in despair, alone, without him._

**_“Quigley!”_ **

_Even with Isadora and Duncan, a part of him would always be gone if he lost him. Once he lost him._

_He would save him or die trying. …Surely that was what a volunteer did?_

**_“Quigley, please wake up…!”_ **

_He was tired of being so helpless, always._

_He didn’t want to lose his father, not again._

**_“_ ** **QUIGLEY!!”**

_“JACQUES…!”_

Quigley screamed, and awoke.

The first thing he saw, after realizing that he was in bed, with no fire anywhere, was Jacques’ face directly in his field of vision. The other man was leaning over him, hands on opposite sides of his body on the bed, looking scared and distressed, as adrenaline still coursed through Quigley, his breaths heavy and panting. Jacques’ breathing sounded much the same; it had been almost a week since he had first come down with his cold, and he had thankfully slept and eaten more since then, which had helped, but he was still sick, his eyes still as red and tired as ever, and this was only accentuated by the worry written all over his face.

“…J-Jacques…”

“Y-You were having a nightmare,” Jacques stammered weakly, awkwardly. “You… kept screaming my name, so I………Q-Quigley?”

He had begun to move to sit up, clearly embarrassed at hovering over him, but Quigley’s hand had shot out almost on its own, grabbing onto Jacques’ shirt and keeping him where he was.

A few seconds later, Quigley wrapped his arms around Jacques and pulled him down to him, sobbing into his shoulder.

He hadn’t cried this much since the fire. His siblings and himself were all the same age, but at some point in time he had begun to be considered the most mature of the three of them, and so Quigley rarely cried. There was almost an unspoken agreement that he had to be the strong one for his brother and sister, and he had known that this would be needed from him now more than ever once he had reunited with them… and Quigley felt he had to be strong for Jacques’ sake, too. So he had held it in, somehow, perhaps because what had happened hadn’t truly sunk in yet.

Even days ago, when they’d had their argument, Quigley had tried to stay strong. Even with all of the nightmares, he hadn’t broken down completely.

Until this one.

“Oh…… O-Oh _Quigley_ ………Quigley, I… I’m so _sorry…!”_

Jacques held him, returning his embrace, and his arms were warm and solid and _strong_ , and he sobbed along with him and sputtered and choked out apologies and desperate words of comfort, the other just as weak as Quigley himself was, and he may have been distant and awkward and rather unhelpful and far, far too hard on himself, but that no longer mattered in this moment; none of Jacques’ flaws mattered to Quigley anymore, because right now, all he needed was _him_ : the feeling of his mentor, his _father figure_ , holding him in his arms and supporting him, when there was nothing and _no one else_ in the world to support him.

Quigley wanted his siblings, and he didn’t know where they would go or what they would do once he found them, or even how unsafe they might be in the future. But right now, this was enough. Jacques, in all of his love and kindness, being with him and comforting him and grieving with him through their mutual pain, was enough.

Finally, a semblance of calm washed over them once more, their cries quieting. Jacques eventually slowly sat up, and Quigley allowed him to, still lying down and exhausted, and still sniffling somewhat. The older man kept a hand atop his own, squeezing it, and reached out with his other hand to gently wipe his eyes.

“……I’m sorry, Quigley,” Jacques whispered mournfully and seriously, apologizing for what had to have been the hundredth time. “I’m sorry I have been so distant from you… so busy. Things may be urgent, but that’s no excuse for me to ignore you so much, and… cause you to w-worry about me. I” – he hesitated, brow furrowed in frustration as he looked down at the bed – “…We’ve been in this business for so long… that we tend to get blindsided by it… blindsided to the important things. Truly, I-I still feel like I never grew out of childhood sometimes; I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, or how to socialize, or how to help people immediately… I’m just… so distracted. …I’m sorry I didn’t realize how much you needed me until now. Even after the other day, I _still_ failed to realize the extent of it… I-I’m terrible.”

He took a moment to cough into the side of his hand, and Quigley bit his lip, shaking his head and squeezing Jacques’ hand that was still with him, having long since already understood so much of what he described. “…It’s okay. I know… I k-know you’ve been through a lot too… more than I can even comprehend. …Thank you, for doing what you have for me.”

Quigley smiled weakly up at Jacques, and the other teared up once again, pressing his fingers to his eyes, his voice cracking as he spoke. “…I’m _sorry_ … I c-could not prevent the fire that took your parents, Q-Quigley. …I can’t even bear the thought of showing my face to the B-Baudelaires, either… We just… continue to fail, and continue to lose more, time and time again.”

“Now I _know_ that’s not your fault,” Quigley countered, crying as well. “I don’t know what all they did with this VFD, but… i-it was their choice to join it, right? It was… what they wanted… s-so they must have known about any d-danger that would come with it. ……I know… I know that they wouldn’t have blamed any of you for it either, just like I don’t.

“You’re doing everything in your power to prevent m-more of that, sacrificing so much of yourself. …That’s _more_ than enough, Jacques.”

Jacques began to sob once more, his face turned away, and Quigley watched him, heartbroken. As frustrated as he had been with him, and how desperately he had wanted to connect with him further all this time, he could truly see how lost the man was; how much he needed love, and support, and freedom from his burdens and worries just as much as Quigley did, if not more.

He could only pray that Jacques would find his brother and sister again soon, to help him. Until then, he made a silent vow for he, Duncan, and Isadora to be his family instead. Just like he already considered Jacques to be part of his after such a short amount of time.

 “……Y-Your parents were wonderful people,” Jacques finally whispered, turning back to him, and Quigley managed a weak smile, wiping his eyes. “We went on… some great adventures together when we were younger; climbing mountains, exploring caves… finding secret hideouts.”

Quigley felt warm inside, thinking about his parents out on secret missions with secrets friends, being just as brave and daring as he always knew they were. He still didn’t know why they had done such things, what _VFD_ did, and perhaps he never would. Perhaps he would never know why his parents had become part of something that they knew might put their lives in danger. …But at the very least, the times Jacques spoke of had to have been good memories for his mother and father, before he and his siblings had come into their lives. That was something to cherish.

“…They were happy, then? …Had lots of f-fun with you all?”

“……I’m sure,” Jacques said quietly, his eyes still shimmering. “Most all of us were, back then, I think… when times were good. …Now, though…” He sighed. “…We are all so broken, now, and those missions we had seem to mean less and less in light of how so many things have turned out.”

Quigley closed his eyes, speaking softly, and reassuringly.

“…As long as they were happy… that’s all that matters. If you _all_ were happy… then it wasn’t meaningless. It meant something, no matter what.”

He squeezed Jacques’ hand, gazing at him once more, and locking eyes with him.

“…You’re very brave and noble, Jacques.”

 “…Not really, Quigley,” Jacques whispered. “As I said… I’m so out of it oftentimes, and never know what I’m doing, or what I should be doing… I just do what I’m told to without even thinking about it in an attempt to help the people I love… e-even if it doesn’t work out… because deep down, I-I… I’m just _scared._ ”

“But you try,” Quigley said gently, emotionally, almost repeating what he had said earlier. “You try your hardest, despite all these harrowing circumstances, despite how much confusion there surely must be and how much you have riding on your shoulders, despite how _scared_ you are… because of how much you care. …I’d say that that’s noble enough.”

Quigley gripped Jacques’ hand with both of his own now, to ground him, one child helping another.

“…And, well… I’m s-scared, and I’m sure my siblings are scared… and I’m sure a lot of your friends and family are scared, too.”

In truth, hearing that an adult, let alone an undercover agent, was scared of the circumstances now, frightened him even more.

“So it’s okay if you are too. …I’ll support you in any way I can.”

But even more than he feared for himself, did Quigley fear for Jacques’ own safety, because of how very noble he knew he was. That was why he would never let him go, and never stop supporting him back.

As long as they all had each other, they wouldn’t have to be afraid anymore.

“……Thank you, Quigley. I wish you didn’t have to… but thank you.”

They were silent for a long while, as Jacques ran his hand through Quigley’s hair soothingly. When Quigley finally spoke again, he was hesitant, but he pushed onwards anyway.

“…Can I ask you something?”

Jacques’ smile became somewhat strained, but he nodded, speaking gently. “…Of course. I can’t tell you everything, but I will try to answer… You deserve at least something.”

“Then… What’s so special about the Baudelaires? I’m just curious.”

Jacques’s eyes widened for a moment, until he chuckled a little, his expression growing soft. “…They’re not really special in the way you’re probably thinking. One reason is that Klaus Baudelaire has some information that is of great importance to me, that very few others know. …But the main reason I’m looking for them is simply that…”

He paused, looking down at the bed, his voice fond and bittersweet.

“…Well… My brother has a… personal connection to their family, and so I and my sister do in turn. Which is why I very much wish to see them safe and sound, just like I want that for you and your siblings. Your brother and sister are safe at the school right now of course, thankfully… but the Baudelaires’ whereabouts are unknown to me… a-and they’re being targeted by one of our worst enemies, so my worry for them is immense. They are all clever and resourceful children, just like you all are, but they need a stable and safe home…… Which they would have had here, with dear Dr. Montgomery, if Count Olaf hadn’t ruined that.”

“But why is Count Olaf after them, of all people?” Quigley asked, wanting to meet these Baudelaires more and more every time he heard about them, something twisting inside of his chest. He didn’t know them, and yet he knew he had something in common with them, and that was enough for him to want them to be safe. “Surely it’s not just because of their fortune…? He could steal money anywhere, it sounds like, if he really wanted to. It just seems weird.”

Jacques did not say anything for a long time, staring distantly in a vague direction above Quigley’s head, as if he was looking at something very far away, or perhaps very long ago. Quigley couldn’t discern his expression, and couldn’t tell if the other was angry, or sad, or haunted, or, more likely, a combination of all three.

“………That’s not… something I think I have the right to speak about,” Jacques finally said, just as Quigley thought he wouldn’t answer. “In truth, I don’t really know entirely, anyway. …But it doesn’t matter; as soon as I find them, I can keep them safe until I can meet up with my allies and we can take down our enemies once and for all. That’s what’s the most important.”

Of course he was right. As long as everyone was safe and the tragedies stopped, why did reasons matter?

“…So that ‘the world is quiet once more’?”

Quigley spoke softly, ignoring a small voice in the back of his head, and smiling as he echoed the other’s words from days ago that had stayed with him and had struck him so. Jacques looked surprised, and then wistful, finally managing a smile.

“……Yes. So that the world is quiet again.”

“I like that. It sounds nice.”

“…Indeed it does, Quigley. ……You should try to get some sleep now.”

Quigley sighed and nodded, noticing his exhaustion as it was mentioned. A part of him wanted to talk more, but ultimately he was content to simply soak up the feeling of comfort and reassurance Jacques had given him, imagining the day when all of them could be together again like he had described, freed from their grief even just a little.

“……Thank you, again, for being here for me,” he said quietly, gratefully, as Jacques moved off the bed. “……I’m sorry I woke you up; you’re still sick.”

“Don’t worry about it, not at all, Quigley; p-please don’t apologize……… We… We all have times where we need to let things out, and you of all people deserve that time.”

Jacques gave him another watery smile, looking hesitant, and almost like his usual, awkward self, and after another few moments, he suddenly leaned back down and kissed Quigley on the forehead.

“……That includes me, though I don’t let myself do it enough. ……So thank you, as well… for supporting me and needing me, despite how useless I am. …Again, I am sorry for being away from you so much, Quigley.”

The man reached out once more, taking his hand and squeezing it, still smiling, and his eyes full of emotion.

“…From now on, I will make sure to be here for you as much as I possibly can. I’ll still have to leave sometimes, but hopefully I should be making a breakthrough soon… Whenever you need something from me, please let me know. It’s the least I can do… much better than giving you something as pointless as a notebook.”

_But I love that notebook. And you’re not useless. You’re anything_ but _useless, you’re_ everything _but useless. You may have done some things wrong, but you’ve also never done anything wrong; I wish I could do so much more for you than I can, just like you are doing for me—_

“……I j-just want you take care of yourself and stay safe; that’s all that matters to me, so that you can eventually take me to my siblings,” Quigley whispered, afraid that if he spoke any louder his voice would crack once more. Afraid to let the fear show through. “…For your brother and sister’s sakes, t-too.”

He knew how much his pleading was clear in his eyes, and Jacques broke away from his gaze for a moment as he neared the doorway, looking down at the floor. “…I’m sorry. ……I’ll try.”

After a moment, though, he seemed to gain resolve, and then looked back up at him, sudden determination in his eyes.

“No, I will; I’ll follow through with all of this, and succeed. I promise, Quigley.”

And despite Jacques’ initial hesitation, and his nightmare from earlier, Quigley believed him with all his heart.

 

* * *

 

In the Mortmain Mountains, the Baudelaires told him what had happened. Quigley somehow managed to hold everything in until he was out on the open sea, alone once more, like he always was.

 

* * *

 

Years later, as a young adult, Quigley would find himself standing in the rundown jailhouse of the long-since abandoned Village of Fowl Devotees, staring at tiny words scratched into the very bottom corner of the wall in one of the jail cells, and wondering what might have happened if he had only somehow convinced Jacques to not leave to investigate the murder at that lumbermill that day. Wondering why he hadn’t said anything kinder and more grateful to the man that day before he had left, if he couldn’t know to stop him.

He and his siblings had met an all too familiar looking Lemony Snicket through Violet, Klaus, Sunny, and Beatrice Baudelaire, who now lived with him. He was beyond relieved for all of them, truly; that the five of them had found each other and were safe, and happier.

Quigley just didn’t understand why their Snicket (at least, one of them) got to live, and not his own.

 

 

(and he hated himself for it; but Lemony knew how he felt, and told him that yes, it _should_ have been himself instead of them, and understood how much it had to pain him to look at him or his niece, and _apologized_ to **_him_** for everything, and it was that knowledge that made Quigley feel more guilty, and hate himself, and sob until he could cry no more, most of all)


End file.
